


Untitled

by katsu



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsu/pseuds/katsu





	Untitled

  
The first impulsive, unplanned act of his life is also to be his last: as Loki looks into his father's eye, hearing that one word, a disappointed, "No," and his hand loosens of its own accord, fingers giving way.

 _I cannot live,_ he thinks from a cold, rational corner of his mind, that small part of himself that still demands control. _It's impossible for one man to feel such shame and live. Just as it must be impossible for one man to feel such hatred and live._

Thor surges forward, almost falling himself, and wraps one thick hand around Loki's wrist. And Loki realizes at once, rage like fire in his veins, that it is possible in this single moment to feel even more hatred and still live.

He claws at Thor's wrist, breaking fingernails on the armor, curses him, struggles wildly. He might as well be fighting against a mountain, or trying to drive back the sea by throwing stones. Loki catches Thor across the face with his free hand, focusing on those blue eyes and their infuriating sadness and sympathy. Because even that is better than looking at Odin again, better than drowning in his father's disappointment. He strikes again and again, draws blood, and gets no more than a small flinch for his trouble.

Thor throws him onto the remains of the bridge like one would throw a fish onto the deck of a boat. For one wild moment, Loki wonders if he can keep rolling, can throw himself off the other side of the bridge, but the time for that has passed. He has no strength, and he has no taste for such melodramatic gestures as rationality takes hold. He can only lay on his back, hands limp beside him, and fight to calm his breath.

And then his brother stands over him, one foot planted on either side of his chest, reminding him that there can be no escape. Thor looks down, blood streaking one cheek, and says one simple word: "Why?"

Loki laughs as best he can, a dry sound that rasps in his throat. "I hate you."

For one moment, he hopes that this will be the thing that frays Thor's legendary temper; he searches his brother's blue eyes for growing anger, or that terrifying blankness that heralds true rage. But he finds only an unending sadness that is more terrible than anything temper could hope to produce.

"Why?" Thor asks again, voice becoming more gentle.

"Why not?" Loki demands. Carefully, he props himself up on his elbows; Thor steps back, and he pulls himself to his feet. It is bad enough, the sadness, the disappointment, the shame and rage; he refuses to stare up his brother's nose in addition to all that horror. "Tell me, brother, why shouldn't I hate you?"

"We _are_ brothers, Loki. Have I not always been at your side? Have we not fought together, bled together?" Hurt confusion is added to that terrible sadness; seeing it makes Loki lightheaded, his pulse pounding in his temples.

"We've spilled our blood on the battlefield so that you can come home to feasts and toasts and cheering while I am lost in your shadow!" Loki spits. "If you stand next to me, it's only so that others notice how tall, how strong, how handsome Thor is in comparison to his runt of a brother!" Runt among giants, and next to Thor, still a runt among the Asgard; the injustice is almost comical.

"No one thinks that--"

"Blinded by your own radiance, Thor," Loki hisses. Thor glances over his shoulder, a quick jerk of his head toward their father. Loki seizes on that look, that confusion. "Loved best by our father, loved best by one and all. Except for me, of course. Except for me."

"That isn't true--" Odin begins, behind them.

"Isn't it?" Loki screams. "Isn't it true?" He takes one step toward Odin, and then Thor has him by the arms, dragging him back.

"Please, father." That is all Thor says to Odin, and then the full force of his gaze is back on Loki, blue eyes taking over his entire field of view. "No one has looked down on you, Loki. Or if I have, only tell me names and I will have satisfaction."

Loki can only laugh at that; it hurts his chest like a sob, and all that stops him from doubling over are Thor's hands on his arms. "Everyone does, brother. We all hate the Jotun, don't we?"

Thor's eyes narrow, his head tilting slightly. "I don't understand..."

"I'm one of them, don't you know? A murderous monster. One of the Jotun."

Again, Thor glances over his shoulder; his grip on Loki's arms becomes tight to the point of pain, but it's a sensation that Loki welcomes as only a small part of what he deserves. "That cannot be true."

"But it is. And isn't that reason enough for me to hate you? For you to hate me?" Loki bares his teeth in a grin, hoping now for an answer to his own rage.

Thor sucks in a quick breath, as if he's just been punched in the gut. But when he looks at Loki again, his eyes are still sad, unwavering. "Maybe for other people." He releases one of Loki's arms, hand drifting up his back, trembling and uncertain as if Thor has gone blind and navigates a dangerous path by touch. Thor's hand comes to rest on the back of Loki's head, fingers clutching at his sweat-slicked hair, and he pulls Loki forward until their foreheads touch. "Who is it that you truly hate, brother?" he whispers, for Loki's ears alone. "Who?"

Thor's skin burns against his, not because his brother radiates such heat, but because Loki has gone so cold and still. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, afraid that he will drown if he looks at Thor any longer. No sound makes it through his throat; he can only shake his head, shoulders jerking uselessly.

"It doesn't matter who you hate," Thor whispers. "Because I will only love you more."

A sound tries to escape Loki's throat, something between a laugh and a sob and the moan of the damned. He catches it with his teeth, jaw clenched so hard that the bones crack. For a moment, his hand finds the back of Thor's neck, the heat of that skin burning as if he's just caught a lick of flame against his fingers. They stand for what seems to be an eternity, their breath mixing together; Loki tastes blood, and smoke, and sorrow in the air. Thor's arm tenses to draw him closer, and for an instant, Loki imagines letting go, falling into his brother's arms, as if that will make up for the destruction and the words he cannot force himself to say.

His hand leaves Thor's neck, finds his shoulder, and he pushes his brother away, opening his eyes. He catches an instant of hurt and shock before he jerks face toward their father and speaks. With each word, he draws himself up, finding his spine and the tattered remnants of his pride. "I have committed a multitude of great crimes today, _father_. I am yours to punish."

Odin shakes his head, face becoming grim. "Wrong piled upon wrong does not make right."

Deep within himself, he finds that bright, hysterical edge that fueled him in his fight with Thor, his attempted destruction of the monsters that birthed him. He points at Odin, letting a grin take his face. "If you do not see fit to stop me, I will continue the work I have started today. I will destroy you all."

"You know he can't be serious father," Thor says behind him.

But Loki only holds his father's gaze, letting him see the madness that has begun to grow in his heart like cancer. "Punish me, or I will punish you, I swear it."

"There is nothing I am certain of any more," Odin says, his voice heavy. "You will be exiled, Loki, when we have rebuilt the Bifrost. Until then, you will be confined. Does that suit your tastes?"

Loki laughs. "Promise to find a suitably horrid place to send me." His voice is a mocking sing-song.

"Thor! Take your brother to the palace and see that he is bound."

"Father--"

"Now!" Odin thunders.

Thor grabs Loki's arm firmly, but it is Loki who leads the way. He glances over his shoulder once, to see Odin fallen to one knee, his face covered with one hand. He does not care to look back again.

"This is not the way, Loki. This is madness," Thor murmurs in his ear.

"Of that, I am certain," Loki answers. "Oh brother, you have gone from being bullheaded and too full of temper to bullheaded and too forgiving. You won't make much of a king at this rate."

Thor shakes his arm, his grip becoming bruising. "What else do you seek to destroy today?"

"Everything. Simply... everything. And so the day after, and the day after. What else is left for me to do?"

"Be calm and take time to think, I beg you. Everything you have done today can be mended, I swear."

Loki desperately wishes that he could believe Thor, but Thor has always been idealistic, and never understands the consequences of anyone's actions, let alone his own. Loki is the smartest person he knows, and there is no way he can find off this path, no way to erase the betrayal in his mother's eyes or his father's broken trust. There is not enough forgetting in the world to take him back to the time when he'd been innocent. And so his only answer is laughter.

Thor takes him to the best sorcerers of Asgard so that his magic can be bound. This, at least, is according to plan. The magic users are drained from healing those Loki has injured, from trying to keep destruction and chaos from spreading further. And Loki may not be at his best, but he has always been stronger than these fools. So he lets them put their wards on him, twisting the runes just a little here and a little more there when their attention lapses.

Instead of taking him to the dungeons, Thor leads him to a small, empty guest room. He is at least smart enough to not imprison Loki in his own room, not that it matters when there are a thousand means of escape. "There will be guards," Thor tells him, "and even if I choose them carefully, I doubt they'll be gentle if you try to escape. You have... angered a lot of people this day."

Loki smiles at him. "I appreciate the warning."

Thor's hand lingers on his arm, and he seems to be fighting to find words. At last he shakes his head and gives Loki's arm one last firm squeeze. "I will speak with father. Things will be mended."

"Not even my tongue is that silver, brother dear," Loki says. He steps away from Thor then, and waits for the door to shut before he collapses down to the floor.

Every muscle in his body aches, bones cracked and tendons strained in his fight with Thor; that pain is nothing compared to what strangles his heart and lungs. He clutches his arms around his chest, as if to keep himself from splitting in two as he rocks from side to side, teeth and lips clenched tight. He is uncertain if his tears are from sorrow or rage; possibly both, the emotions a tangled knot that he fears he will never unravel. But his tears are also silent; that is a skill he learned long ago.

He has long since returned to icy calm when the palace at last grows silent, the occupants sleeping. Just as he has planned, he undoes the wards on his magic, and cloaks himself with invisibility before simply passing through the door, walking silently past the guards. They, at least, are alert, no doubt hoping that he will try some obvious escape so they can have their own small satisfaction beating him to a half-dead pulp.

He knows which route he will take, a secret way from Asgard that will take him to the farthest reaches of the realms, giving him time to understand and plan and decide what to do next. But inexplicably, his feet do not follow the path immediately; they draw him down the main hallway, to his brother's room.

Thor is asleep; the snores tell him that much. He passes through the door like a ghost, coming to stand by Thor's bed. It is easier to look at his brother now, now that his eyes are closed and sleep has erased the worst sadness from his face. Several bruises and deep scratches mar one of his cheeks; Loki holds his hand up to them, picking out which slender finger made which mark.

Lightly, one by one, he touches each of the raw lines, whispering a small spell of healing that will close them, leaving his brother's face perfect again. When the skin is whole and smooth once more, Loki kneels down, giving his brother's cheek one gentle caress. For a moment, his thumb lingers against his Thor's lips. He longs to draw Thor to him, to press their foreheads together once more, as if that will allow him to force his thoughts past both their skulls and communicate what he truly feels and what he truly regrets.

No longer so silver-tongued, the best he can manage is, "If I cannot understand myself, brother, I can't hope that you will. But I am sorry. And I will hate you --" _as I hate myself, because you are my self, my better self that I will never attain_ "--but know that as much as I hate you I will... I will only love you more." He places the gentle ghost of a kiss on Thor's forehead, and another on his lips. "Goodbye."

He leaves his brother, sprawled out in sleep, and does not look back.  



End file.
